Whoosh.
After half a month of arduous travel, a river appeared before him.
Aragorn looked at the river, and its name surfaced in his mind:
The River Harnen.
Perhaps the ownership of Harondor was still disputed, but this river was without a doubt the border of Harad. Beyond it lay Harad's territory.
It was precisely because of this that the Haradrim placed great importance on both sides of the river. This much was clear from the fact that they had even created a special post named after it, the Commander of Harnen.
Still, a commander, huh...
Not as if I haven't dealt with one before.
Aragorn pulled his hood lower and blended into a passing fleet of boats.
A few days later, strange noises came from within the tent of the Commander of Harnen.
Clang!
A sturdy staff made of mahogany wood blocked the sword aimed at the commander's heart.
!?
At the sight of the staff's design, Aragorn was clearly startled. He turned his head sharply, only to see an old man in blue robes standing there, eyes bright and piercing.
"You recognize this staff?" the old man asked, raising a hand to stop the young Commander of Harnen behind him, who was drenched in cold sweat and halfway to drawing his sword.
"Of course I do."
Aragorn's eyes stayed wary, his sword still tightly in hand.
"No need to be so tense, young Dúnadan."
The blue-robed wizard lowered his staff and introduced himself:
"I am Alatar, a wizard. A wizard, simply that. I believe I don't need to explain what that means to you."
Aragorn still didn't relax his grip.
"I once met one of your kin, a mighty Dúnadan warrior who defeated a Nazgûl. He left quite an impression on me."
"Oh yes, there was another person there at the time. His name was Garrett."
At that name, Aragorn's eyes lit up.
"You know Garrett?"
"Garrett? Oh, of course. We've shared life-and-death moments together," Alatar said with a trace of emotion.
Though back then, he nearly killed me, he added silently to himself.
Hearing that, Aragorn finally eased his stance, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
He asked, "What exactly is going on here?"
"Well... that brings us back to Garrett."
Alatar stepped aside and gestured toward the young Commander of Harnen.
"Don't worry. He's one of ours. His father once swore allegiance to Garrett, and that oath has been passed down to this day."
"Greetings," said the young commander with a slight nod.
Aragorn returned the nod, a brief, respectful greeting.
"How has Garrett been recently?"
With the misunderstanding cleared up, Alatar invited Aragorn to sit, and the two began to talk.
"I haven't seen him for decades," Alatar said. "I wonder if he's still well."
"He's doing well... perhaps better than you'd expect," Aragorn replied. "Do you know of the Lord of Wayfort?"
Alatar frowned and shook his head.
"These past years I've been dealing with troubles here in the South. I haven't gone north, nor heard any news from there."
"The Lord of Wayfort... I've never heard that title before. Perhaps you can tell me about it?"
And so began a long conversation.
Alatar listened, completely absorbed.
"I'd love to see it with my own eyes someday," he said at last. "But alas, there's still much for me to do here."
"I plan to head to the Far East next. The Khan of Khand has passed, and his son now inherits the throne. I do not yet know what kind of man he will be."
"And you?" Alatar asked, turning to Aragorn.
"Me?"
Aragorn hadn't expected this newly met wizard to ask for his thoughts.
"Yes, you," Alatar said with a faint smile. "To be honest, it's been a long time since I've had a Dúnadan by my side. Having one around brings back many memories... and a bit of how things used to feel."
"The Far East..."
Aragorn murmured, then nodded suddenly.
"...All right."
Wandering aimlessly in the South wasn't a good choice anyway, especially after he had just killed a harbor commander. Things were rather tense in Umbar at the moment.
Thus, the two came to an agreement.
And so began the new journey of a blue-robed wizard and an unremarkable "ordinary" Dúnadan, or so he called himself.
"By the way, take a look at this."
In Gondor, within the guest hall of the White City, Ecthelion took out a notebook and handed it to Garrett.
"Hm?"
Garrett accepted the old, timeworn book, and for a moment, he felt a wave of nostalgia as countless memories resurfaced.
It was as if he had gone back decades in time.
Back then, the first school in Wayfort had just been established. And Taber... was still alive.
It had been a warm afternoon. Garrett and Taber had walked around the school together. Garrett had casually helped mark a few students' assignments, jotting down notes and remarks. Later, Taber had even come to him specifically to ask about some of the comments he couldn't quite understand.
It all felt like it had happened only yesterday.
Coming back to his senses, Garrett flipped through the aged notebook. As expected, he found his own annotations, and later, another set of familiar handwriting: Taber's.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
By now, if the notebook's original owner had been just a small child learning to write when Garrett made those notes, then that person must be quite old.
"Well..." Ecthelion replied, "some time ago, my captain of the guard saved a ranger from Wayfort while on patrol. The ranger was very grateful and told him he could take anything from him as thanks."
"Of course," Ecthelion continued, "you can trust my captain's integrity. He hadn't intended to take anything at all."
"But by chance, this notebook fell from the ranger's pack, and my captain happened to recognize what it was."
"So in the end, he chose to take this, a notebook the ranger had kept close to him."
Lowering his voice, Ecthelion added, "I heard the young man was remarkably strong. Even with several broken bones and on the brink of death, he never made a sound. But when this notebook was taken from him... he nearly cried."
"Still, my captain brought it back."
Garrett stared at the notebook.
"What would he want with such a thing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Ecthelion didn't find it strange.
"You probably don't realize how many people offered high prices to acquire it before it reached me."
"After all, in a sense, this is a 'lord's true relic,' one with several decades of history."
"Oh..."
Garrett gave a helpless little smile.
"Let me take this notebook with me. I'll exchange something else for it."
To the one who had lost it, the book must have been precious, perhaps something entrusted to him by an elder. Losing it would surely be painful.
"Just take it," Ecthelion said. "Think of it as me returning lost property to one of your people."
"That won't do," Garrett said, shaking his head. "We can't take good deeds for granted."
After a moment's thought, he took a book and pen, and copied out "A Complete History of Wayfort." On the cover, he pressed his personal seal and wrote a short message of thanks.
Then he placed a small red flower between the pages, along with a finely crafted gold coin stamped with the crest of Wayfort.
"With this token," Garrett said, "the bearer may seek help from anyone within the Free Settlements."
"You have such a custom?" Ecthelion asked curiously, taking the book, coin, and flower.
"We didn't," Garrett said, leaning back with a faint smile.
"But we do now."